Chapter 2

Doug

Her face haunts me.Those damn green eyes, like a signal flare in the night. They light up my darkest corners, and Im screwed. Totally hooked on Lori White, and she doesnt even know it.

I cant shake her. Every time I close my eyes, there she is. Its a constant battle in my head—wanting her, needing to protect her, but knowing I gotta keep my hands off.

Loris got this tough shell, but I see the cracks. I see the girl whos been kicked by life more times than anyone deserves. She’s a survivor—she doesn’t need saving, not really. But hell, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to wrap her in my arms and shield her from the next blow.

So, what do I do? I make a call. A decision that goes against every rule in the book. I decide to shadow her, watch over her from a distance. It’s a tightrope walk, keeping her safe while battling these urges to just swoop in and claim her as mine.

I stalk the shadows like some guardian angel with a badge. Dammit, I should be arresting punks, not tailing a girl whos gotten under my skin in ways I cant explain.

But there’s something about Lori. Something that makes me want to break all the rules. So, I follow at a distance, always there but never close enough to touch. Its a kind of self-torture only a guy like me would sign up for.

I tell myself its the cop in me—that protective instinct that wont shut off. But deep down, where the truth doesn’t sugarcoat itself, I know its more than that. Its raw, its relentless, and if Im not careful, its gonna consume me.

The city pulses around me, a living, thrumming beast. Yellow cabs honk like impatient geese as they weave through traffic, and the scent of food carts—grease and promise—fills the air. Lori moves ahead, a swan in a pond of pigeons. Shes fluid grace in this concrete jungle, and Im the shadow just out of sight.

I dodge a cluster of tourists snapping photos of the endless skyscrapers. My gaze never leaves Lori, glued to her every dip and weave through the crowd. Her black hair catches the sunlight, a beacon for my hungry eyes.

My boots hit the pavement, soft taps drowned by the cacophony of city sounds. Each step is measured, timed with the rhythm of her walk. Im close enough to see the fabric of her jacket flutter with each gust of wind, but far enough to be just another faceless New Yorker.

A street performer juggles flaming batons nearby, drawing a crowd. Lori pauses, her head tilting curiously, and damn, my heart skips. Does she sense me? No, shes captivated by the spectacle, her green eyes reflecting the firelight. A quick glance over her shoulder, and I slip behind a hot dog stand, my pulse a wild drum in my ears.

I bite back the rush that threatens to expose me. I cant afford to screw this up. Theres heat in this chase, a thrill that licks at my insides, leaving a trail of fire. The danger of her noticing me, the risk—its intoxicating.

She moves on, and I follow, a silent guardian in a dance only I know were doing. Every shout, every car alarm, is a potential siren calling me out. But I stay focused, locked on her like shes the North Star guiding me through a stormy night.

Lori stops abruptly, and I nearly collide with a man selling knock-off watches. Watch it, buddy! he barks, but Im already melting back into the stream of people. My hearts pounding so hard, I swear it could break ribs. Close call, too close.

I watch her from behind a newspaper someone discarded on a bench. Shes oblivious to my surveillance, thank God. To her, Im just a gust of wind, a shadow that doesnt exist.

Im a cop, not some peeping tom. I should be above this, but here I am, tracking Lori like prey. Its messed up, but I cant help myself. Shes the itch I cant scratch.

* * *

Loris got this rhythm when she walks, a kind of sway thats hypnotic. My feet shadow hers, my strides shortening or lengthening to match the beat of her boots hitting the concrete. Its an art form, staying just out of sight, close enough to see the way she brushes her jet-black hair from her face, far enough to be just another guy on the sidewalk.

She laughs at something someone says. I cant hear it over the traffic and the citys heartbeat, but its a sound that hits me right in the chest. Its like watching some old-timey silent film. Her expressions tell stories her voice doesnt need to. Her eyes, those damn emerald sirens, they light up, and even from a distance, theyve got a pull on me. I tell myself Im here to keep her safe, but who am I kidding? Im caught up in her gravity.

When Lori turns into the soup kitchen, its like a punch to the gut. The place is a gray smudge on the vibrant city canvas, its windows grimy with the breaths of too many hungry souls. She hesitates for just a split second before pushing open the door, and I feel it, that hesitation, like its mine.

I find a spot across the street, tucked between a newsstand and a phone booth plastered with flyers. From here, I can see the entrance. I watch as people drift in and out. I cant see Lori anymore, but I picture her inside, that tough shell around her softening just enough to accept help. It kills me a little, thinking of her needing to be here, of her doing it alone.

Its not my place to swoop in, not yet. But hell if every fiber of me doesnt want to storm in there, grab her hand, and tell her shell never have to set foot in a place like that again. Instead, I stand guard, a silent sentinel, waiting for her to reappear and remind me why all of this, every crazy, messed-up part of it, is worth it.

I wait, and then Lori emerges, her shoulders squared against the world that never seems to give her a break. Im across the street, my eyes locked onto her every move. Shes unaware of me, but it doesnt stop my gaze from softening when she tugs her jacket tighter around herself against the chill. Theres a grace in her step, a sort of defiance that says she wont be beaten down by lifes cruel hand.

Damn, I whisper to no one, as a swirl of emotions clogs up my chest. Theres pride for her strength, pain for her struggles and this fierce protectiveness thats becoming my constant shadow. Its a wild tangle, this feeling inside me. Im drawn to her, like a moth hell-bent on circling a flame it has no business flirting with.

She takes a left, heading towards the park, and its the long way round to where she stays. My feet echo her path, keeping distance, as if there’s an invisible string between us. Funny how Ive become this ghost flitting at the edges of her life—there, but not quite.

The setting sun casts a golden glow over the city, making silhouettes of the skyscrapers that stand sentinel over our clandestine dance. They know the secrets of a million souls, and now theyre privy to mine—to this thing pulsing between Lori and me.

As she disappears around a corner, I hang back, my heart hammering a staccato rhythm against my ribs. A mix of longing and worry etches lines into my usually stoic face.

Just what the hell am I going to do about Lori White?